


for i am just a footprint in the snow

by iwillwalk500miles



Series: Genesis' White Rose Week Prompts for 2020!! [7]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Knights - Freeform, Mutual Pining, No Dialogue, White Rose Week 2020 (RWBY), a bitch is back at it again, i just gotta, knight weiss! knight weiss! knight weiss!, though the magic is kind of minimal tbh, you know i experiment with writing styles that make things less coherent but more emotional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24475336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillwalk500miles/pseuds/iwillwalk500miles
Summary: (White Rose Week 2020: the princess and her knight)There is something bubbling up inside of her, something she’d never felt before. And for the first time in years she thinks for a moment that her armor is too heavy to move in, that her arms are not strong enough to lift her sword. The way that the princess dances, with suitors and her family and friends, it makes her heart beat with something entirely unfamiliar to her.Winter sees it—takes notice of her sudden breathlessness, presses a hand to her shoulder, and tells her tolet go.And so Weiss does.(At least, shethinksshe does.)Or;She was a knight, her duty was to the crown, was to protect it and serve it as best as she could—but the call, the sweet and warm melody of friendship sang to her.(And more often than naught, it was in the form of a rose.)
Relationships: Ruby Rose/Weiss Schnee
Series: Genesis' White Rose Week Prompts for 2020!! [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776382
Comments: 20
Kudos: 170





	for i am just a footprint in the snow

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from the 1975's 'jesus christ 2005 god bless america' which has almost nothing to do with the one shot except for the fact that some of the lyrics go as hard as:
> 
> 'i'm in love but i'm feeling low, for i am just a footprint in the snow'
> 
> and
> 
> 'i'm in love with a boy i know, but that is a feeling i can never show'

She doesn't understand, at first, the way that the princess insists on calling her by her name. It's wrong, she thinks, it's _wrong_ and _informal_ and is so _different_ than what she's come to expect. Weiss disobeys the order, remains quietly insistent of the use of titles between them. ‘Your highness,’ escapes her lips, or maybe if she’s being lax a simple ‘Princess.’ But she _never ever_ finds herself daring to cross the line that she herself had drawn.

To cross it meant disaster, perhaps not at first, but it would only be a matter of time before things would spiral out of control. Weiss wishes sometimes that she could force a way out of the chains of protocol, wishes that she can find the courage to just _say_ her name—but she never can. The fear that plagues her is stronger than she had ever anticipated it to be, the horror that came with the what would happen if her father was to find out.

And through it all, the way the princess _looks_ at her does not escape her notice. 

_I am not your friend_. She wants to tell her, wants to plead and beg—hold the princesses hands and hers and kneel down, to breathlessly ask her to leave her be, to not give her false hope. _Please do not ask it of me._

She never can, not only because it would be wrong to speak with such informality, but because she was afraid that if she uttered the words the princess might heed them. 

Sometimes, when she is lonely (and she is most of the time lonely), the idea haunts her. It lodges itself in her throat, suffocating her and smothering the breath from her lungs—it keeps her gasping and aching, as though the weight of her emotion was far too much.

She was a knight, her duty was to the crown, was to protect it and serve it as best as she could—but the call, the sweet and warm melody of friendship sang to her.

(And more often than naught, it was in the form of a rose.)

Weiss Schnee was born with a sword hanging over her head, keeping her from death with a single silver string. Her very existence was one that needed to be watched, kept an eye on—for surely she would bring misfortune to those who loved her. That’s what her sister had told her, at least. She was sure Winter only meant that as a word of warning, not some phrase to hold close to herself, not an excuse to keep people away. But, well, Weiss had never really been very _good_ at listening to the word of her family.

(And so she had taken that well intentioned warning and carved it into her heart, made sure that every time the possibility of companionship made itself known to her she would take care to ignore it.)

This was how she became very adept at keeping people an arms length away from her. It was easy, _simple_. Not only did it ensure that her father never had any more people to hold against her, it also kept her priorities in check. She was to be a _knight_ , after all, it was best she didn’t hold on to any attachments that might hinder her work ethic.

The royal family wasn’t exactly _close_ to her own, but the Schnees had enough land, enough money, enough trade, and enough infamy to make sure that the King kept a watchful eye on them—even if they lived between the borders of Vale and Atlas, sitting in a world of their own making and not committing to a single kingdom. It’s because of this, Weiss was sure, that her father had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar as easily as he was. 

From then on it was relatively simple, as a slap on the wrist for almost swindling Vale's royal family, one of his children was to be sent to the capital to serve them.

At first, Whitley was chosen.

Weiss was the heir, and Winter already had publicly refuted the Schnee name, had already taken up arms in Atlas, so that had left _Whitley_ —skinny and young and sickly—to journey into the capital of the kingdom that his family only half belonged to.

He very much did not want to go, that was obvious.

And Weiss, knowing this, did not make him.

The princess is strange. This is Weiss’ first impression of her. 

The princess is _tiny_ , that was her next impression—and it made Weiss feel a bit odd, the fact that one of the royal family (someone who could order a man executed with a lethargic jerk of her chin) could be so small.

But, then again, the princess _is_ only fourteen.

Weiss, sixteen and probably the youngest full fledged knight in the castle, had no idea why the king had insisted on the meeting. She was sure that she was meant to be nothing but a glorified prisoner, a hostage with a sword and nice room. Surely the king wouldn’t let her—a captive more than capable of harming someone who might be close to him—anywhere _near_ the girl.

The king smiles, a bright broad thing that only ever seems to serve to make Weiss uncomfortable, and places a large hand on his daughter’s shoulder, gently nudging her forward. His hair blends with his gold crown, shining in the sunlight like his teeth, and Weiss notices that the princess has the same smile as him—if a tad dimmer.

Weiss bows formally, greeting the princess as she should—and because her head is dipped she doesn’t see the king and the princess exchange odd looks. She lifts her chin when bid, keeping her eyes on the floor, careful not to endanger her place here. Her father had always been more comfortable with Atlas politics than the ones in Vale, her actions reflect that. She hopes that here it is different, but dares not take one step out of the common protocol, just in case.

Her father had been reluctant to let her go, his heir—and though Weiss had expected him to pass the title to Whitley when she was gone, he _hadn’t_. It was something that made her more than a little wary, the idea that he had something planned for her in the capital. She suspected that he'd planned to infect Vale with his trade just as he'd done Atlas, and held on desire in making it any easier for him.

(Even though trade in Vale would certainly help ease the stigma of her name, as much as she wanted to make 'Schnee' mean something honorable, she knew that her father would only squander the chance.)

The princess bounds forward, derailing her thoughts, and slips to the spot on the floor where Weiss’ eyes had been—forcing her to make direct contact.

Weiss feels something in her chest constrict, and her shoulders go more rigid than they already were.

The princess (whose name that Weiss knows but dares not think in fear she may accidentally use it) grins at her, placing a hand on her chin and nodding thoughtfully. _Yes_ , the princess seems to say, _you’ll do._

She’s inducted into the royal guard the next morning, a promotion that gets her many side eyes and out right glares from many of the older knights, and told she is to look after the princess.

Weiss, confused and more than a little wary, obeys with little more than a word.

The captain of the royal guard eyes her, orange-red gaze narrowing when he takes in her hair and her eyes, the features that mark her as a Schnee. He tells her to get him a drink, and when Weiss declines he glares at her.

She's careful not to be alone with him much after that.

The next thing she learns about the princess is that she is hopelessly clumsy. It’s almost to the point where she is positively convinced that the girl must be doing _some_ of it on purpose—nobody trips over nothing _that_ much. Though, it appears the princess is adamant on proving her thought process wrong, slipping on unseen cracks in the halls, tripping over slightly uneven tiles, knocking her way into servants and nobles and suits of armor.

It drives Weiss _mad_.

Surely the girl must have received _some_ sense of schooling when it came to grace and poise? Weiss and her siblings had been at the mercy of tutors since they were _three_ , if her father ever saw one of _them_ bumbling around like the princess was there would be one less finger to write with.

Weiss is careful not to complain, but she can’t hide the soft sighs as she lifts the princess from the ground when she trips or when she catches the girl when she falls. It’s easy to come to expect the princess will do something clumsy, and soon she finds that the girl spends less time on the ground nursing a sprained ankle or bruised shin or other injured limbs, and more of it in Weiss’ arms. Her hands carefully steadying the princesses shoulders before she pulls away, careful to only touch the princess when she has to.

The princess always smiles at her when Weiss prevents her from falling, often saying something entirely informal like, ‘my hero’ or ‘my brave knight’ or something equally as nausea inducing. It’s enough to make Weiss roll her eyes sometimes.

(Not that she actually _let’s_ the princess see her rolling her eyes, though judging by the small smiles to outright grins she seems to shoot at her, Weiss isn’t very good at being sneaky.)

A year passes, and Weiss is still as stiff and formal as the first day she’d spent in Vale’s capital. 

(Though if you were to ask the princess, she’d waste no time in proclaiming that they were best friends, if only because Weiss was the only one who ever caught her when she fell.)

The crowned princess doesn’t like her. Well, it’s more like she doesn’t seem to like the way that her younger sister seems to insist on dragging Weiss everywhere they go. Not that she minds, of course, it _was_ her job to keep her safe—and even though she despised being put to work by her captors, at least it was a reason to get up in the morning.

But, well, the crowned princess doesn’t _like_ her.

Weiss is used to being unliked, not only was she the youngest member of the royal guard ( _ever_ , apparently) many people despised her father, and thus seemed to take pleasure in despising her. She almost admires the servants and the workers around the castle for their small acts of rebellion—their subtle refusal to serve her—but mostly it’s just inconvenient.

(She misses Klein, letters never seemed to be enough.)

The crowned princess, blonde and tall with a tongue twice as sharp as her temper, isn’t exactly quiet in her distaste for her. It’s different than with the servants, and Weiss didn’t know whether to be relieved that someone was so open with their dislike of her or annoyed that her interference just made Weiss’ job harder sometimes.

The youngest princess, however, seems to be under the impression that they are all _great friends_.

Sometimes Weiss wants to cry at her naivety, it’s hard to protect someone when you don’t know whether or not they’ll put themselves in danger because, _oh come on, Weiss! He had a whole jar of cookies that he wasn’t eating!_

(If it was her, Weiss would be insulted at the routine kidnapping attempts because they were far too easy to see through, but the princess seemed adamant on seeing the best in everybody. It was a quality that often ended with Weiss’ sword on some degenerate’s neck, or a very quiet warning escaping her lips when the princess wasn’t looking.)

Regardless, the first time the crowned princess is around for a kidnapping attempt, Weiss ends up working _with_ her to protect the princess.

(She wonders who taught the crowned princess how to fight, but decided she was better off not knowing.)

Weiss flicked the blood from her sword, wiping it and then sheathing it, sighing as the groaning thief clutches his wounded arm—and turns to see that the crowned princess has blood on her knuckles, another man clutching his crotch and bleeding from his obviously broken nose.

The crowned princess eyes her for a moment, before nodding, as though to say, _Yes, you’ll do_ , and it’s so reminiscent of her first meeting with the girl's younger sister that Weiss fails to stop the princess from throwing her into a hug.

_Hugs_! The princess cheers, reaching up and using her handkerchief to wipe the blood from Weiss' cheek.

And Weiss—( _shocked and still and far too warm_ )—forgets to push her off.

Her sister visits a week before the princess’ sixteenth birthday.

Weiss stares, and realizes that she’s grown a little taller than the last time she’d seen her in person, though not nearly tall enough if Winter’s amused smile is anything to say about it.

Winter tells her that Father is planning something, and also that she is there to make sure that Weiss had grown stronger.

Weiss, resigned about their father, shrugs and agrees to a fight.

Winter thoroughly trounces her, and though it isn’t unexpected from either of them, the look on her older sister’s face is a bitter sting. Before Weiss can say anything, Winter nods, as though her performance was satisfactory, and tells Weiss she is to learn the family magic.

That, at least, is enough to make Weiss forget about her defeat.

The princess comes looking for her right as Weiss has managed to summon a proper glyph. The sound of triumph and relief that escapes her is louder than she’s ever allowed herself to be in the castle. Her grin is slanted and broad when her sister laughs and tells her that her stance is shitty, but Weiss doesn’t _care_ because after hours of work she’d _finally_ managed what she set out to do. 

The flood of magic through her veins is intoxicating and exhilarating and _wonderful_ because now she has a connection to her family name that isn’t through her father and the happiness she feels because of that is unreal, almost.

A soft ‘ _oh_ ’ interrupts them, and when Weiss looks up at the princess and fails to drop her smile, the redness on the other girl's cheeks matches the ends of her hair. It’s like the first time that Weiss sees her, the first time she _allows_ herself to see her.

The princess is beautiful, tall and tan and strong—smiling and soft and _wonderful_. It escapes her, how she managed to go this long without seeing it, the attractiveness of the curve of the princess’ smile and the dimples indented in her cheeks. How was it that she missed the beauty marks near her eye and mouth? The curve of her jaw and the broadness of her shoulders?

_(How was it that she’d just now only let herself become consumed by the sight of her?)_

Her heart skips a beat, and for a moment it’s as though they are the only two who exist, as though Weiss’ eyes were simply meant to meet the princess’. 

Winter jabs the pommel of her sword into Weiss’ forehead, and that is enough to make her lose not only the glyph but the grin on her face. Her sister kneels where Weiss was on the dirt floor—her sword jabbed into the earth as the glyph that surrounded it flickered out of existence, and leveled her with a stare.

_You know better._ Winter says, soft.

_I do_ , Weiss agrees, even though she doesn’t.

Winter eyes her, before nodding. _Not my problem_ , her posture seems to say—but Weiss can see the genuine concern in her eyes. 

Weiss tries to ignore the way the princess watches her train with her sister.

She fails.

The princess turns sixteen a week later, and Weiss is disgruntled to realize that they are now relatively the same height, the princess only slightly taller. She doesn’t know why it bothers her exactly, but something about it—the way the princess seemed to smile at her, now on even footing—left her breathless.

She guards the event with the rest of the royal guard, and is all too aware of the way her breath strips from her lungs each and every time she catches a glimpse of the person she’d sworn to protect.

There is something bubbling up inside of her, something she’d never felt before. And for the first time in years she thinks for a moment that her armor is too heavy to move in, that her arms are not strong enough to lift her sword. The way that the princess dances, with suitors and her family and friends, it makes her heart beat with something entirely unfamiliar to her.

Winter sees it—takes notice of her sudden breathlessness, presses a hand to her shoulder, and tells her to _let go_.

And so Weiss does.

(At least, she _thinks_ she does.)

The year passes differently than the two previous. Weiss behaves the same, cold and professional and _careful_ , but the royal family does not. The princess had always asked Weiss to call her by her given name, a plea that Weiss had always refused, but it seemed different now—the way the princess asked it of her laced with something she couldn’t see.

The crowned princess also asks her to call her by her given name, though she makes it sound more like a threat than her sister does. 

(Weiss makes sure to refuse them both, though to the crowned princess she is a mighty bit more cruel about it.)

The king too seems off, almost.

He smiles at her more, which is strange because Weiss was sure that the man already smiled enough for everyone in his kingdom. Even the captain of the royal guard, the princesses uncle who her sister had despised, seems more welcoming of her presence.

(And by that she means instead of asking her to get him a goblet of wine every time she sees him, he asks only every third visit or so. She still refuses of course, but now she gets a smile instead of a scowl.)

They see her differently, and though they have been immeasurably kind she can only see the potential plans her father might achieve by having her here.

(She is, after all, _somehow_ still the heir to the Schnee name.)

It comes to her quietly, the realization that she wanted more than she had previously let herself. It’s when she looks at the princess and thinks, Ruby—when she stills, stopping in her tracks at the name reverberating in her mind. She’d never allowed herself to say it, never allowed herself to even _think_ it, but somehow it had snuck up on her—a runaway thought polluting her entire mind.

Ruby—the princess, she _has_ to think of her as _the princess_ —stops and turns to look at her, frowning worriedly. She moves forward, and it takes every ounce of strength that Weiss has not to take a step back.

Ruby says her name, quiet and soft and something else that sends a shiver down Weiss’ spine, and asks if she’s alright.

(And Weiss can barely manage not to say that she isn’t.)

She nods, averting her gaze and moving forward, a tight smile on her face as she tries to put her sudden pause behind her—but Ruby ( _she has to call her the princess she has to stop thinking about Ruby, Ruby, Ruby—_ ) doesn’t seem as keen to drop the matter.

_Weiss_ , she says, _won’t you tell me what’s wrong?_

For a moment, Weiss feels as though she is being suffocated. Something must be clamped around her throat, someone's hands or a weapon or _something_ that is making it so she cannot _breathe_ —but it hits her as Ruby stares at her, silver eyes steady and strong, that this is all her _own_ doing. She chokes on that realization, that this was her _own_ fault, that Winter had _told_ her to be _careful_ and she simply didn’t _listen_.

She manages to say that she is fine, manages to spin a tale of being lost in thought, and even though the princess ( _RubyRubyRubyRuby—_ ) clearly doesn’t believe her, she allows Weiss her reprieve.

(But not without looping their arms together once more, not without making sure that Weiss was close enough to feel the warmth radiating through her clothes— _because Ruby had insisted that she leave her armor and though it was entirely unprofessional of her she’d obeyed and oh goodness this had been a long time coming hadn’t it?_ )

When Weiss turns nineteen, she and Ruby catch the crowned princess (she may as well think of her as Yang now, if she's thinking of Ruby as Ruby) kissing one of the diplomats from Menagerie. She blinks for a moment, before coughing out loud before her charge can pull her away.

Ruby whines out her name as she tugs on her armor, trying to get her to leave, but Weiss pays her no real heed.

She smiles, cold, and points out that Yang should _really_ be more careful. After all, who knows what would’ve happened if the wrong person would have come across the two of them?

The diplomat tenses, cat ears flattening against her head as she goes on the defensive, only for Yang to laugh loudly and say, _you don’t have to be a bitch about it, Weiss._

To which Weiss replies, _how else would I get you to correct your imbecilic behavior?_ And then she loops her arm around Ruby and escorts her out the empty corridor before her older sister could throw something at them.

Ruby pouts on the entire walk to the garden, mumbling something about how Weiss didn’t have to interrupt them like that.

When they finally reach the garden, Weiss turns to her and can’t help the slanted smile on her face. _Where to, your highness?_

And she seems to _melt_ , tripping over nothing.

Weiss surges forward immediately, catching her and making sure she was alright. She frowns, her one of her hands on Ruby's waist and the other on her shoulder as she tries to deduce what she'd fallen over. Nothing, it seemed like. That's when Weiss realizes how close they are, she coughs awkwardly, moving away from her.

Ruby smiles, playfully batting her eyelashes a bit, and leads Weiss deeper into the garden.

Being that close to her had been a test of strength.

It gets worse, because Ruby went and grew _taller_ than her, and now she is beginning to become more and more sure of herself. Weiss doesn’t realize how bad this fact is at first, more elated that now that she had gained a bit of direction, surely she would be less clumsy? She was mistaken, if anything Ruby seemed _more_ disorganized than usual, tripping near her _again_ and grinning widely as Weiss hastily moved to prevent her from falling.

She thinks that the word to accurately describe her entire situation was probably ‘ _pining_ ’ or something as equally as overdramatic and horribly emotional. It isn’t as though she means to, but she finds almost easy to slip into that mindset—an endless wanting with little to no reprieve. Not that she feels bitter or otherwise negatively toward Ruby, more like she feels a deep and profound frustration for her own lack of foresight.

It’s odd, looking at Ruby and seeing... someone important.

She’s always been important, of course, it had been Weiss’ job to protect her for years—but this felt... _different_.

It was more emotionally taxing, worrying after her. Weiss was sure she had hit the peak of stressfulness that came with guarding Ruby, and was sure that she could become used to it. 

It’s different, now that she knows how she feels.

(And sometimes she isn’t so _sure_ how she feels, sometimes it’s like she takes a second to look away from Ruby, to not be in her presence, and then the moment she lays her eyes upon her _everything_ comes rushing back. There was denying her feelings when the object of her affection was right in front of her, there was no stopping the overflowing dam of emotion, but she found it was easier to pretend if she wasn’t looking.)

Caring for someone deeply and being tasked to protect them is a... difficult task. Not only must Weiss keep her fondness somewhat secret, but she must do her job _well_. Which meant protecting Ruby, sure, but also making sure that Ruby didn’t feel stifled.

(Weiss knew what it was like to be crowded, she couldn’t stomach the thought that she may suffocate Ruby.)

They’d known each other for three years, surely things wouldn’t change so much with the simple realization that she was in—

The simple realization that she was—

That she—

That she felt—

That she _cared_ for her.

(She couldn’t even think of it, the word _‘love’_ not in the context of Ruby, and certainly not if it was used to express how she felt.)

But of course, like most things nowadays, Weiss was wrong.

Ruby calls her name and Weiss has to force down a smile, Ruby grips her arm and she has to avert her gaze to hide a blush, Ruby does something and Weiss has to _force_ herself not to look in fear of giving herself away. It felt like there was no rest to the endless mask she had to use to shroud her true feelings, and with every time she dawned it her emotions only swelled and became _worse._

There was no reprieve—not for her, not if it was about this.

Of course she's confronted, because she is remarkably unlucky.

Weiss doesn’t exactly know how it happens, one moment she’s on her way to the library (because she _loves_ the castle library) and the next moment Yang is grabbing her by her arm, yelling something about needing help. Weiss, because she’s _stupid_ , follows her worriedly, hand on the hilt of her sword and inwardly cursing the fact that she had no armor on.

(It was her day off! Ruby had insisted on giving her one, and had finally managed to wear Weiss down enough so that she accepted.)

_You’ll thank me for this some day._ Yang says to her, stopping in front of Ruby’s door, wrenching it open and shoving Weiss inside. 

She falls with a yelp, hitting her elbow at an awkward angle and looking up just in time to see Yang wink and close the door. She opens her mouth in outrage, getting ready to leap to her feet and open the door herself, only to hear the sounds of locks and what suspiciously sounded like a large piece of furniture being pushed into place.

Weiss lets out a groan, laying back down on the floor and closing her eyes stubbornly. 

It’s just her luck that when the door is once again opened, Ruby is shoved inside the same way she had been, and Ruby (being Ruby) isn’t exactly graceful about it.

Which is how Weiss ends up blinking at Ruby from below her, her arms pinned on the sides of her head. It’s strange, Weiss thinks—her thoughts distant, how nice it is to be near her. The warmth that radiates from her body is comforting, an intoxicating feeling that makes Weiss release a soft sigh from her mouth.

Ruby stares, eyes wide and shining, one of her knees in between Weiss’ own and their bodies pressed up against each other.

Her cheeks were a delicious pink.

Weiss doesn’t move, and neither does Ruby.

Weiss opens her mouth to say something, _anything_ , and then Ruby is flying off of her—her back slamming against the door, the back of her hand pressed to her mouth as she stews in embarrassment. 

Weiss blinks, a soft shaky breath escaping her lungs, and she is startlingly aware of the sudden burning in her cheeks. She was too dizzy to think straight, she realized, pressing the palms of her hands against her eyes as she did her best to regulate her breathing. Her heart was racing out of her chest, and it took all of Weiss’ strength not to check her pulse to make sure it was still working properly.

The sound of her name interrupts her, and she hesitantly sits upward a little to find Ruby staring at her, eyes wide and cheeks still bright red.

(Weiss wonders, for a moment, if she could get away with not saying anything. But when Ruby’s eyes narrow, she knows that it’s a hopeless wish.)

_You’ve been strange_. Ruby tells her. _You’ve been strange, and cold, and weird, and have I mentioned how strange you’ve been? Because you’ve been really really strange and I’m super worried and it’s starting to freak me out and—Weiss please don’t look at me like that of course I worry about you don’t look so surprised—_

(But of course she’s surprised, how could she not be surprised?)

Ruby’s still rambling as she moves forward, pulling Weiss to her feet.

It’s a strange twist on the usual, Weiss keeping Ruby from falling over or helping her up from the few falls she isn’t quick enough to save her from, and it makes a lump rise in her throat.

Ruby retreats, her back smacking against the wooden door once more as she proceeds to go on and on and _on_ —

Weiss makes a split second decision, and hopes dearly that she doesn’t come to regret it. She walks forward, and Ruby seems to shrink backward, her voice going breathless as her mouth just keeps talking and talking and talking until—

Weiss is so close to her Ruby’s breath tickles her face.

She takes care not to actually touch her, mindful of that contact even as for the first time of her own will Weiss invades her personal space. She lifts a hesitant palm, but doesn’t dare presume, watching Ruby with careful eyes. She wants to cup her cheek, to press her hand to her shoulder, or maybe even brush her hair from her face—but Weiss _doesn’t dare presume_.

_Oh._ Ruby’s sigh is a breathless rush of exhilaration, and she reaches for Weiss’ wrist, pulling it close to her face so Weiss can finally gently hold her cheek. Ruby leans into the contact, and Weiss’ throat goes dry.

_Ruby_. Weiss finally manages to say, and it may as well be a confession of love.

_Oh._ Ruby’s sighs again, reaching out and wrapping her arms around Weiss’ waist, leaning down and burying her face in her shoulder. Even though she does this, Weiss is still startlingly aware of the fact that Ruby is taller than her—bigger than her, and instead of feeling small like she might have before she only feels an unending warmth that she can’t place.

(That’s a lie. She thinks. _That’s a lie I know exactly what this is, I know exactly what she means to me, why did I run from this? Why can’t I say—_ )

_I love you_. And it takes a moment, takes Ruby’s wide eyes and flushed cheeks and startled breath, for Weiss to realize she’s said it outloud.

_A wonderful coincidence._ Is what she thinks Ruby says but then she’s kissing her and all coherent thought fades away.

Weiss has never been kissed before, and she doesn’t think that Ruby has either, but it still feels like the best one she’ll ever receive. Ruby’s lips are soft and slightly chapped and so very _warm_ that for a moment Weiss fears they may consume her, that Ruby’s mouth and her lips and her _kiss_ will be the last thing she ever experiences.

(And if that were true Weiss doesn’t think she’d regret it.)

Weiss cups Ruby’s cheek in one hand, using her other arm to snake around her neck and draw her closer. She thinks that even if this is their first kiss (even if it turns out to be their last) she wants and _wants_ and _w a n t s_ —a deep, raw, unending _hunger_ that drives her closer and closer and closer. 

Ruby pulls away first, breathless and gasping against Weiss’ mouth and that only seems to make the burn _worse_ —a realization that has Weiss drooping to the side and leaning her forehead against the wood of the door, right beside one of Ruby’s shoulders. 

_This is wrong, this is wrong, this is—_

Weiss shouldn’t have done that, she shouldn’t have allowed herself to indulge, if her father finds out she _knows_ he will use it as a way to bend the king to his will, to bend her to his will, and she doesn’t think she can survive going through another period in time like her childhood _again_ , doesn’t think she can stomach the pain—

And then Ruby’s reaching up to grip her jaw, turning her head so they look each other in the eye.

_I love you_. They seem to say at the same time, and then suddenly Ruby repeats it over and over and over again, a desperate plea against her cheeks and eyes and nose and forehead and chin as Ruby presses her lips to the places she professes her love.

_I love you_ , against her lips before Ruby is pulling her close once again.

The press of her mouth against hers is enough to make the world fall away, enough to make it so that they remain the only souls in the universe—and somehow Weiss feels her worry melt from her shoulders, if only for a moment.

(If only because even if Ruby wasn’t quite there to catch her when she fell, she was certainly there to pull her up.)

**Author's Note:**

> was this emotional? i think so, i was messing around again and decided to make this one weiss' pov, though i did have like half a different fic for this prompt that was pov alternating, but decided to go with this instead! i might finish the other draft later, but for now this is what you get
> 
> anyway, that's all folks! white rose week is officially over for me! i'm kinda disappointed that i ran out of time to do the free day, but i'm still super proud of everything i accomplished.
> 
> I noticed that for some of my oneshots people really wanted to see continuations of them, and you know what? I kind of want that too... however, it will be quite some time before i get to writing them! i have a whole bunch of aus to get back to work on. 
> 
> hoping you enjoyed this week as much as i did,
> 
> genesis


End file.
